Source of Insanity
by Cheeky chub
Summary: Only Arthur Kirkland has ever witnessed such acts committed by his friend. "Oh, there it goes... Where will it stop? Nobody knows!" (Contains Blood/Gore/Violence, swearing and sexual scenes [Chap 5])
1. Chapter 1

Arthur knew. He felt his presence in the room... Alfred was his friend. The blond boy was actually one of his best friends actually. But the boy... The innocent, hyperactive and entirely good boy had an extremely unimaginable dark persona to him.

"Artie!" said boy shouted. "A-Ah! What is it git?" He questioned irritatedly. "You've been jumpy all day! What's up!?" Alfred leaned closer to his tense friend. "N-Nothing's up you idiot!" Arthur was avoiding eye contact. "Then look me in the eye and say it, dude!"

The Englishman turned his head slowly to meet the American's eyes and was seen visibly relieved to see a very happy Alfred.

"What? Is something wrong with looking at me? Am I too ugly and fat!?" The blue-eyed boy started checking himself frantically. "Nothing's wrong..." Arthur sighed exasperatedly. "Look, can we just focus on the work?" He turned his head away from the annoying American. "Sure, sure..." And with that, the pair became absorbed in lessening the piles of paperwork on their shared desk.

Arthur shivered only slightly which went unnoticed by his friend. He could feel the presence of Alfred's other unstable little persona waft around the happy-go-lucky boy. It only took over Alfred when he went extremely emotional about something... And extreme was probably a light way to put it.

No one else knew of the American's other personality. Not even his own half-brother who was Canadian (and was very proud of that fact. Hence the "I'm not American!" shout that comes after every "I'm his brother," explanation.). The thick-browed blond had had an unfortunate encounter with it after the other had 'lost it' over a hamburger. That's right. A hamburger of all things. It was a complete mystery as to how it wasn't previously discovered as it was apparently that easy to set the American off.

Now if onl-"Artie? Yo Artie! DJArt? You there!?" The boy invading his thoughts was waving a hand uncomfortably close to his face. "I'm here, I'm here..." He grumbled. "Good because you've been out of it for a while now, man! I mean, you've been staring at those pile of papers for a while now... Are you sure you're okay?" He put his hand on his friend's forehead. "Argh, I'm bloody fine you half-baked ham!" He gasped and slapped a hand over his mouth. "I-I didn't mean it, Alfred," he explained, panicking. "I-It's ok man... I mean, you know that hamburgers are pretty special to me, right!? There's no way you'd mean that... It's no biggie..." It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself to believe what he had just said. "Shit... Shitshitshitshitshit..." Arthur cursed at himself.

"L-Look I'm going to go now..." He needed to escape. Fast. "Why?" The American's voice cracked slightly. "Th-There's no use crying over spilt milk, right?" With that said, the American brightened up instantly. "Y-Yeah! I'm perfectly fine!" He laughed to himself. On the other hand, the Englishman watched as the evil _thing_ seeped out of the laughing boy's head._  
_

Suddenly, a hand grasped the front of his collar and Arthur watched in horror as the evil air immediately seeped back into Alfred's skull. A pair of red eyes glared at him, hatred swimming in their blood-like depths. "Artie~" He started. His hair took on a brown hue and out of the corner of his eye, he could see his prized baseball bat suddenly _grow_ spikes. "Alfred, dammit it's just food!" He yelled desperately. "You're right but I just needed an excuse to come out, really," The taller man grinned, his canine visibly sharper than before. "L-Let go, Alfred!" Arthur was panicking. "Nuh-uh-uh, my little _friend_..." He grinned sadistically. "You're going to be my little _pet_..."

Arthur whimpered. Alfred grabbed his baseball bat and swung it on one of his shoulders. He dragged his pet out of their house and onto the streets. Blood... He thirsted for blood to be spilled... But only the blood of those who dared to piss him off. Arthur, his little pet of course, was the one he wanted to make witness all of the wonderful deaths... Mainly because it excited him to see Arthur covered in another person's blood, with a horrified expression on his face as he sat, staring at the mutilated corpse of a mere civilian... Oh yes, that was a _very_ exciting scene.

The thick-browed blond saw the taller blond's eyes light up and he cringed. "P-Please no Alfred... Don't... Please..." Arthur begged. Said man's head snapped in his direction and he glared fiercely at his pet. "You're smart... I like that... But you can't control me my dear Artie," Alfred smirked in delight. He brushed his nose against Arthur's forehead and laid a light kiss on it. "This is all for you, sweetheart..." And another thing.

Apparently Alfred's other persona had a deep, dark fascination with Arthur. Though you could call it an obsession since the male had nearly killed Francis (Whom had no memory of the incident, being beaten with a spiked bat almost to the verge of death and all...). The news of Arthur being in a relationship with the frog-prince did not please the American anyway. That is, the nice half. But why would he care? He was in a relationship with Russia and even though the Englishman was against it, what did he do? That's right! Nothing. But when he gets a boyfriend!? Oh, his boyfriend gets beaten to a near death state. (Perhaps his memories of America getting angry over a hamburger was wrong... Well, they were probably discussing about Arthur's new boyfriend over a hamburger...)

By the end of his train of thought, Alfred had apparently found an unfortunate civilian. He dropped Arthur and glared at him as if to say 'Try and escape and I won't be afraid to become a Necrophiliac' which definitely scared the Brit in his spot.

"Yo, mate!" Alfred called out to a man clad in a thick dark grey winter coat matched with an equally dark scarf and hat. He walked over to the man and the pair began to chat. Arthur, in the meantime, was arguing with himself about calling out to the man to run away or help save him from his friend. But by the time his internal conflict was over, the American's red eyes locked with his and he gestured to follow him into an unusually thick forest.

The man's knocked out - at least Arthur thought he was knocked out... Though the streaming blood from his hat begged to differ...- form was being roughly dragged by the happily-skipping American. Each crack of a bone that emitted from the body only made Alfred giggle excitedly as they neared a clearing in the forest.

"Now then..." Alfred paused to giggle excitedly. "Let the fun begin!" He shouted. He pointed at Arthur and gestured for him to sit down, the other had no choice but to obey.

Alfred wasted no time in stabbing the man with his bat through the chest. He used his bat as a rolling pin and rolled it over the victim's body. But then, he got bored and slammed his bat furiously into the victim's ribcage. Blood oozed from the jacket so Alfred promptly slit it open with a knife he had grabbed from his pocket. The source of the blood became clearly visible and Arthur nearly fainted as Alfred caused spurts of blood with his constant whacking if the spiked bat. Then, he grinned nicely. Too nicely for a situation like that. He threw the knife high in the air and sang as it came down. "Oh, there it goes... Where will it stop? Nobody knows!" He sang. A sickening 'SCHLK!' sounded.

The knife landed almost too perfectly in the middle of the man's forehead. "Whoopsie daisy~" Alfred grabbed the knife from the man's forehead and Arthur was pretty much ready to faint by then. "Oh no you don't! The fun hasn't truly started yet..." Alfred growled. Specs of blood were strewn across Arthur's white collared shirt.

The American dipped a finger into the man's wounds and smeared the blood across Arthur's pale face. "The fun's just starting, love," Arthur sobbed. A tear trickled down his sweat-slicked cheek.

**I do not own Alfred F. Jones or Arthur Kirkland.**


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred frowned at the sobbing and panicked form of his pet. "Artie, my dear-"

"Shut up! It's Arthur, not stupid little Artie!" He yelled, interrupting Alfred. Alfred smirked devilishly. "What? Is it making you feel inferior? Then it's doing its job," he growled through gritted teeth.

The Englishman whimpered and lowered his head as soon as Alfred turned and continued smacking the corpse with his bat. He couldn't believe this... He couldn't just simply sit there and watch. He had to do _something_, anything. Arthur's heart thumped loudly against his chest, threatening to break at any given moment. But what about the threatening glare he had received earlier? No. He had to do something to make up for the death of the man.

The green-eyed blond ran away from the scene in a mad dash, amazingly not making much noise. But Alfred, being as sharp as he was in the state he was in, caught the sounds of feet thumping rapidly against grass.

Arthur turned to look back and the view that met his eyes terrified him. Alfred was facing his direction, covered in blood and bits of organs. His face held a psychotic smirk and his blood red eyes glared at him. Arthur dared not focus on the bat. To his horror, he realised there was what seemed to be intestines wrapped around the bat. He silently cursed himself for his eyes betraying his thoughts.

"L-Leave me alone Alfred!" He shouted desperately. The short male could hear no thundering footsteps behind him. "Run, my pet, run... Your master will come looking for you, do not worry... The little stray dog will find his home again in me," Alfred's smirk grew wider and crueler. Tears flew off of Arthur's face wildly as he ran.

The bloodied Englishman ran onto the streets. He was soon arrested and was forced to explain the whole story. He lied saying that he was helping out a butcher and in a panic of the amount of blood he saw (Because he was apparently not expecting THAT much blood), ran. That story, however, was not an entire lie...

Arthur was sent away a while later and he wandered the streets clad in a white shirt and camouflage-patterned shorts with slippers. The attire, however, did not match the weather. It was cold and windy and Arthur silently complained to himself about stupid policemen.

Meanwhile, in the forest, Alfred had finished decorating his bat with intestines wrapped around it, bits of a heart stuck onto it and apparently the oozing bits of a brain. He smiled at his masterpiece. He turned and followed Arthur's trail. It was littered with broken bits of nature and smears of blood. Alfred revelled in the scent of it as he walked away from the very obvious murder scene.

Poor little innocent Arthur, he mused. The man must have been stupid enough to wander into the streets with the mess he was in. He chuckled to himself and silently admired his decorated bat. Then, a wave of pain hit him starting from his head. He growled and picked up his pace, heading towards his house.

If he couldn't have Arthur now, he would just have him later.

The American slipped into his and Arthur's shared house and hid his bat. He could sense his time in the body would soon be over so he lay down on the kitchen floor. Alfred's eyes started to close and he smiled. Finally, an excruciating wave of pain flooded his senses, effectively knocking him into unconsciousness.

Arthur, on the other hand, was a shivering mess in front of his house door. He opened it cautiously and tip-toed inside.

He saw bloody footprints enter the kitchen and the culprit lay there like the sleeping dead. Arthur reluctantly dragged him upstairs and cleaned the mess. He cleaned the American's clothes, the footprints, the bloody evidence, everything. The man then threw the dead-asleep American into the bed and covered him with a blanket. He shut the curtains and then made his way out of the room, shutting the door quietly as he went.

Whilst the American lived his happy life, he was forced to be quiet about his.

Once the Englishman finished cleaning, he dragged the unconscious American to the bed and covered him with the blanket.

Arthur sighed. His life became absolute shit when the _thing_ first entered Alfred. He was sentenced to cleaning up after him like some lowly servant, which was probably what the other Alfred thought of him as. He sat on the sofa, hiding his head in his hands as his tears flowed.

He had no idea how to handle Alfred because anything could set him off. Arthur could never forget the first words the thing had said to him.

_"Let anyone know of my existence and, man, you'll have Heaven to pray to but Hell to be dragged to... Personally escorted by me, of course,"_

Arthur sobbed uselessly. His head hurt. The short male got up and stared at the mirror in the hallway. The image that stared back at him was certainly not the proud Arthur Kirkland he knew. It must have been the monster that destroyed him.

The man in the mirror stared at him with eyes bloodshot, skin a almost deathly pale white, hair unkempt and sticking out in all directions with spots occasionally matted with dry blood and lastly, it was as if his soul was mixed up in the jumble. Somewhere in the mirror he could see his beautiful bloodied soul surrounded by broken pieces of him.

He sighed again. Arthur staggered into the kitchen and made tea for himself. As he stared into the murky liquid inside the cup, the image of a butterfly appeared and he did not smile nor gasp, he simply glared at the innocent picture that was being displayed by his mind. Slowly but surely, his grip tightened and finally... CRACK! Shards of white glass fell to the floor and broke into tinier pieces. Then, Arthur noticed something. A drop of blood had landed on one of the more larger and resilient shards and he couldn't help but think... The red looked so beautiful against the white.

His eyes widened and he shook his head furiously. What was he thinking!? Arthur quickly cleaned the mess and treated his wound.

The green-eyed male then made his way to the bathroom and cleaned himself up. He then sat in the living room and opted to read a few newspapers seeing as drinking tea was apparently dangerous for him now. Still, the man gained a fair amount of paper cuts.

Arthur feared he was turning masochistic. In the end, he was forced to do simply nothing but sit. Sit to his hearts desires... Sitting. So he took his time to admire the living room.

Alfred awoke. His blue eyes blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the darkness of the room. He was quite confused. The last thing he remembered was doing an absurdly large amount of paperwork but that was it. His memory stopped at the point where he was staring at a piece of paper that required signing.

The blond still had his glasses and they were somehow more clean than he remembered. He shrugged the strange feeling off and got out of bed before stumbling downstairs. The male then entered the living room and was shocked.

"Holy shit Arthur! Your hands are bleeding like hell!"

"Oh, are they? I didn't notice..." The British man seemed unaffected.

Alfred immediately dragged Arthur into the kitchen and washed the blood off of his hand. Arthur, however, just stood, unemotional and not moving. He only moved when the American commanded him to either by words or by force.

"Yo, Artie?" The man's head snapped up to meet the American's concerned gaze. "What's gotten into you?" He was worried. The other man replied with a smile.

"Nothing, Al, absolutely nothing..." And he fainted.

**I do not own Hetalia.**


	3. Chapter 3

Darkness. It surrounded him. It was drowning him. It was choking him, blocking his airways. It carried him away from the light and tortured him. It strung him up like the leg of a lamb and did away at his flesh.

"Save me!" Arthur cried. But the darkness would only stay. Instead, it shifted. The darkness, that is. It shifted to form the malicious smile of a red-eyed Alfred. "You know, Artie, you're beautiful," It would have been a nice compliment had it not been ruined by the blood-stained lips that said them. Arthur would only stare, paralysed in his own universe of dreams. He was scared he wouldn't wake up again.

"You'll wake up again, I promise," The darkness read his fear. "You can't fool me..." The green-eyed blond growled. The mouth frowned and his eyes took on a sad look. "Why would I ever want to fool you, love," It looked hurt... He could feel the hurt. "Don't make me cry now, Artie," It said in Alfred's voice. "I love you and only you," It continued. "I'd never lie to you because you're the only one for me... Trust me, Artie," It begged. Arthur refused to give in and shook his head furiously. "The more you resist... Hehehe... It gets me excited, Artie... Too bad we're in a dream," It sighed. "If this were real..." It licked it's lips, taking away the blood... But more poured out of its mouth and took the place of its predecessor. "I won't stop till you're mine~" It sang. A high pitched note invaded his dark dream world and Arthur shot up, awake.

The dream was so vivid... He ran his fingers against his smooth skin, checking for any missing chunks of flesh, whip marks, rope marks... Anything! But nothing showed evidence of the dream.

He sighed shakily. The thing... It was making him masochistic. He knew it. It wouldn't be long before he gave in. It wouldn't be long before he would be begging for the pain... And it wouldn't be long for the insane part of Alfred to achieve his dream. Arthur felt it when he was in the dream. He felt the slight twinges of insane happiness pecking at him. It was hard to shake off because this _thing_ aimed to be permanent.

Alfred was calmly watching the news. He wasn't too interested. It kept talking about deaths and car crashes and other things that made his brain ache. His strangely new looking glasses slipped off his nose a few times as he kept nodding his head forward. It became a little game for him.

Arthur stumbled into the lounge, his hands wrapped in gauze. It was like an annoying glove to him. He dreaded to look at the American. Flashbacks of what had happened still rang in his mind like the noise of a bell; each toll louder and slower...

His train of thought was interrupted by a certain blue-eyed _(red-eyed)_ blond _(brown)_. One glance into the innocent blue depths of Alfred's eyes made something inside him snap.

Arthur, in his fury, cried. He cried brokenly and fell onto the floor. Alfred ran over to him but was only pushed away. "Artie! What's wrong!? Let me hel-"

"DAMMIT SHUT UP!" Tears of frustration and anger glided smoothly down the green-eyed blond's face. "YOU'RE AN IDIOT! I HATE YOU, I FUCKING HATE YOU AND YOUR STUPID FUCKING..." He couldn't finish his sentence as his body rattled with sobs and cries.  
"Artie!?" The American ran over and hugged Arthur despite the other's protests. "Artie... Be mad at me all you want, if that's what makes you feel better," He whispered. More salty tears slid down Arthur's face. After a long while of quiet sobbing, the smaller finally replied. "You... It's your fault..." A teary glare met Alfred's eyes. "What's my fault?" Curiosity took over. "It's your fault, you know," Arthur continued. "What's my fault?" Alfred persisted. "It's your fault," Arthur mumbled. Alfred was getting frustrated. "Tell me, what and why am I at fault!?"

"You're the source of my insanity," The Englishman continued to mumble gibberish. Arthur finally freed himself from Alfred's grasp and wandered outside in a daze.

The American took the opportunity to think over a few things.

Did the break-up between him and Francis really affect him that badly? He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't like the idea of Arthur being with someone else. Call it posessiveness or whatever but he didn't mind. There was always a heavy pang in his chest if he dare thought about _his dear little Artie_ in a... Wait, where did that come from? 'His dear little Artie'!? Wow, if Arthur could read his thoughts he would be dead.

Arthur sat, dazed, on the wet grass of his and Alfred's garden. In his mind, his dazed little mind, there was blood surrouding him. Every dew drop or wet plant became a rich shade of red. He laughed full-heartedly. A laugh that he had not heard a long time. It was foreign to his ears. He laughed till his throat went dry... Till the dew drops crawled towards him and... "Artie? What's so funny?"

The American had never been so scared in his life as the head of Arthur turned to face him.

**I'm writing this as I go along. I do not own Hetalia.**


	4. Chapter 4

Black, a thick and outstanding colour. It crawled across Arthur's hair like an oily monster. The emerald eyes that he usually held melted into a dark, yet dull, red. It was completely different from his normal expressive eyes that brightened in anger and happiness and darkened in sadness and gloom. This dull red-eyed and black haired boy that smiled at him like the most happiest person in the world was nothing like Arthur. His eyebrows had considerably thin too.

Needless to say, Alfred was shocked out of his mind. He froze at the door leading to his garden, staring at a happy-go-lucky Arthur that completely contradicted his usual persona. But Alfred couldn't ignore the devilish twinkle that had appeared in the dull red depths of Arthur's eyes.

"A-Artie?" The American choked out. "Artie? Oh nonono... I'm," He paused. "My name is Oliver Kirkland," 'Oliver' smiled. "Well, I've kept the last name, I can do this 'Artie' guy that much," He chuckled. "By the way, you're 'Alfred' right?" The man in question could only nod numbly. Oliver raised an eyebrow at this. "It's no fun to talk to you," The red-eyed boy frowned. "Ah! I have an idea... Let me cook for you!" He giggled excitedly. "I'm quite good at cooking, you know," The boy got up and dusted himself off although he was fairly soaked.

He skipped past Alfred, swinging his arms about as he headed to the kitchen. "Hey Alfie - Is it alright if I call you Alfie? - What food would you like?" Alfred stumbled into the kitchen and mumbled a quiet 'Anything'. Oliver smiled, it was like sugar and honey melted into a face and it absolutely sickened Alfred.

The black haired male began cooking. His movements were swift, fluid and expertly executed whereas Arthur would stand and ponder with hand on hip over what ingredient would come next and how to install it in the food. This man was definitely not the thick-browed blond Alfred lived with.

It wasn't long before the food was done and Alfred soon had a plate with one hamburger put on top of it. Inwardly, Alfred was complaining about the quantity of the food but he paid no heed to his inner complaints. He didn't pay any mind to the fact that the preparation of the meal took unusually long for one measly hamburger. He didn't even mind the fact that Oliver had gone out of the kitchen a few times. No, everything was fine and the burger looked deliciously enticing.

Alfred picked it up and placed it firmly in front of his face before taking a bite out of it. At first, it was great. The taste of the hamburger was amazing. It roamed over his taste buds.

Alfred swallowed but immediately began to regret it. As the food reached his stomach it felt like it had randomly dried up and turned into a strange powder. Alfred coughed. He coughed uncontrollably and soon, black power-smoke was coming out of his nose and mouth. It tasted disgustingly bitter but he continued to cough it out and the powder never stopped coming.

Oliver held out a vial of clear liquid in front of Alfred. "This liquid is the cure to your misfortune," The Englishman smiled sweetly. The American couldn't answer as he wheezed and coughed out powder-smoke. His eyes stung and his vision blurred with unshed tears. To add to that, his glasses had no long become clear as the powder stuck to it like clingfilm. He reached out to grab the vial and Oliver, feeling sympathy, reached for Alfred's head, tipped it back and poured the liquid into the large wheezing and coughing figure.

Alfred's head tipped back to face the smirking Oliver but red eyes stared at red eyes. "Art- W-What the fuck!? Oliver!? WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE TO ARTIE!?" A furious glare met his question. "I could ask you the same thing, Freddie," The older man sighed. "Damn! I was going to take Artie this ti-" Freddie was quickly interrupted. "And soil my body!? I think not, _sir_," Both parties scowled and glared at each other.

"Let me have my fun, Freddie-bear," Oliver whined. Freddie rolled his eyes and glared. "What? And poison my body to the point where I can no longer pin Artie down? Not in your lifetime Ollie," The brown-haired one ran a hand through his hair in frustration

"So, what now?"

**I decided to end the chapter here. The reviews made me smile so I decided to make a little gift for those who reviewed.**

Four stiff figures sat around a large circular wooden table. Freddie was glaring. Oliver was smirking. Arthur was glaring. Alfred was glaring.

Arthur glared at Oliver and Freddie (despite his fear of the latter). Alfred glared at Freddie and Oliver. Freddie glared at Oliver and Alfred. But Oliver would just smirk at everyone.

"I have an idea~" The shrill voice of a ghoul rang out, startling the four out of their glare-at-those-you-hate state. "Let us play... Truth, dare or die!"

"Oliver, how about you go first?" The shrill voice suggested. Oliver grinned. "I'd be happy to!" The man jumped to his feet and pointed at Alfred. "You! Truth, dare or die!" He bellowed. Alfred fiddled with his bomber jacket nervously. "D-Dare?" A meek voice emitted from him. "Alright! What a fun lad you are indeed..." His red eyes took on a malicious gleam. "I dare you to... Eat this lovely scone!" Oliver held out a normal-looking scone. Alfred knew better than to eat it but it was a dare...

The scone skidded across the wooden table to Alfred. Shutting his eyes, he took a bite.

Seconds later, Alfred was dressed in a very revealing bumblebee outfit. Oliver whistled. "Nice legs, Alfie!" He chuckled. "Save some honey for me later!~" He sang. Arthur stared, gaping like a fish, at Alfred. He was shocked out of his stupor after Alfred began to blush furiously. "You see, I tested Artie's magic with a few of my special ingredients and I, as you see, was blessed with wonderful results!"

Freddie refused to look in Alfred's direction. "Freddie~ It's your turn my lovely~" Oliver sang, briefly imitating a fairy. "Heh, mine's easy..." A devilish gleam appeared in his red depths. "Artie... Truth, dare or die!"

Arthur glared at Freddie for calling him 'Artie'. "Dare," The Englishman said confidentally. "I dare you to eat the exact same scone Oliver gave Alfred," Freddie smirked. Arthur hesitantly grabbed the already-bitten scone sitting on the table and bit it. The effects, of course, remained the same but Arthur was dressed in ab incredibly tight leather catwoman suit, matched with kitty ears on his head, of course.

**I'll end my first little gift here. 2p!Arthur's colours generally follow the colour wheel opposites.**

**I do not own Hetalia.  
**


	5. Chapter 5

"How about we sell my cookies to people?" Oliver suggested. Freddie merely smirked, his canine poking out and piercing his lip; drawing blood. "If we do that then you'd give a cooking reputation to lil' Artie," The blond shook his head whilst chuckling.

The pair glared at eachother, smiling as deadly gleams sparkled in their red eyes. "I'm feeling a little thirsty," Oliver finally said. Freddie broke their eye contact. "Me too... Do you like drinks fresh?" The Englishman nodded. "Coagulated liquid doesn't sit well with me," The black-haired one 'tsk'ed. The American rolled his eyes. "I don't really care as long as it's spilled," Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Are we still talking about drinks?" A smirk was his answer.

Freddie got up and swung his bat on his shoulder. "Tsk... Why'd you have to appear in Artie of all people?" The American sighed. "Heh, I can't help it... I guess I'm magnetised to powerful people," Oliver replied. To this, Freddie raised an eyebrow. "And whose power did you get attracted to exactly?" He queried. Oliver rolled his eyes. "Who knows, Cupcake, who knows,"

They looked away from each other and sighed simultaneously. To occupy their time, they began thinking...

The pair began imagining different scenes...

Oliver's mind:

Alfred lay, gasping and gagging on the floor as he tried in vain to get some food out of his throat.

An excited shiver zipped up Oliver's spine.

Blood trickled innocently from Alfred's plush lips. Oliver grinned. The struggling boy began reaching out to Oliver, his mouth forming the words 'Help me!'. Oliver chuckled. "I'm a bad lip reader, boy," He teased. Alfred's eyes rolled to the back of his head.

(Sexual scenes WILL START FROM HERE ON OUT. I warned you. First time writing a lemon.)

You see, the only way to cure Alfred's little breathing problem was to give him a little dose of _pleasure_.

Oliver giggled excitedly. He got on his knees and unzipped the helpless boy's trousers.

"Alfie, dear, I hope you don't mind this..." He sang. Oliver pulled down the annoying trousers and took his time dragging down Alfred's American flag boxers. "Aww... How cute..."

To his relief, Alfred was a decent size when not erect; which only meant that when he was... It would be a monster.

Oliver poked the limp member and it twitched in response. Deciding to be torturously daring -besides the fact he was ignoring the boy's dying gasps and coughs- he gave a feather-like lick to the tip of the member. The penis gradually became harder with each torturous lick.

Alfred slowly regained his breath. "Mmm... Nnnhh..."

"Like it, Alfie?" Lick. "Gghh..." Lick. "Does it suit your liking?" Lick. "A-Ah..." Lick. "N-No..." Lick. "Yes, Alfie, yes," Lick. "Ohh... Arthur..."

Oliver liked the way the name Arthur seemed to roll off his tongue. It sounded... Fuck-worthy. Oliver slightly dipped his head lower, taking only the head of the squirming man's cock. Alfred was definitely well endowed.

"A-Arth-Aaahn..." Oliver began sucking. "Oh God... Arthur... Nghh..." Suck. "Arthur..." Suck. "Damn..." Suck. "God..." Strong Suck. "Fuck..."

Alfred soon began to submit to the building pleasure. His hips bucked a little for more.

"A-Arthur... Please-Ghh... No-Ah... More..." He begged.

Oliver smiled wickedly. He gripped Alfred's cock fiercely before pumping it up and down. Alfred's face twisted in pleasure, his hips bucking involuntarily with the rhythm.

The sensations began to spread across Alfred's body. Waves of pleasure coursed through him. "A-Ahn... St-Stop..." He groaned. "If I stop, you'll stop breathing my dear," Oliver smiled at the lust-filled expression of Alfred's.

Alfred's glasses slipped off his nose.

Oliver, with his other hand, began to play with Alfred's balls. He squeezed, caressed and pinched them. "A-Arthur! Gah!" Alfred was responding well.

Oliver bent down and brushed his lips against the tip of Alfred's cock. Alfred's eyes widened as he realised. "A-Arthur... No... Do- NNNHH..." He swallowed Alfred's cock whole.

The American, by that time, couldn't take it. Oliver sensed the release approaching.

"Go ahead and cum," He said, his mouth still around Alfred's ready-to-burst penis. The vibrations nearly sent Alfred over the edge. Seeing this, Oliver began to hum the American anthem on his cock. "OH GOD... ARTHUR... FUCK! NO! AAAHHNNN..."

Alfred thrust his cock into Oliver's mouth and white liquid-jelly spewed into Oliver's mouth relentlessly. "NNNN...!"

He swallowed as much as he could, sucking Alfred's cock dry. "GHH...! NN... AAH!"

Alfred slowly lowered his hips, taking his cock out of the other man's mouth. Oliver rested his head on the exhausted man's thigh.

Finally, he was done.

Freddie's imagination:

Arthur was tied to a pole. The ropes were rouch and they dug into his skin each time he tried to squirm free.

TO BE CONTINUED... (I update quite... Randomly. Spontaneous updating, even.)


	6. Chapter 6

Oliver shook his head vigorously. He temporarily mourned the loss of such an incredible little torture story... But he got over it.

The Englishman ignored the presence of the murderous American and promptly began making a lovely little cupcake batch. The fully stocked kitchen provided a major advantage to his innocent plans. Of course, there were no... Particularly deadly intentions on his part; he was eccentric and spontaneous, nothing was set in stone.

Freddie's imagination:

Freddie licked his lips; barely able to contain his excitement as he bounced from one foot to the other on the spot.

"Oi, Fredling!" His day dream was abruptly interrupted. 'Fredling' growled. "What do you fucking want, Cockscar?" Oscar simply rolled his eyes. "Make yourself useful by GETTING OUT OF THIS KITCHEN," He yelled. "Alright, alright," the other replied half-heartedly.

Freddie, feeling bored, exited the house and wandered the streets. A man walked past him, bumping his shoulder. "Watch where you're going, fucker," The man called. Freddie coughed, his hand already on the handle of his bat. As the man turned to keep walking, Freddie's hand shot out and gripped the back of his neck. "Mind repeating that?" He whispered into the, rather smelly, man's ear. In return, the heavily dressed individual choked out what he was practically ordered to say. Freddie dragged the man into the forest by his and Oscar's house. The man protested, struggling to get out of his grip but his efforts were, ultimately, fruitless. "Let's have some fun my dear."

"YOU FUCKING PSYCHO, LET GO OF ME!"

Freddie skipped, singing the rhyme 'Humpty Dumpty' and ignoring the man's yells. "Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall~" Numerous twigs snapped beneath the man's now unconscious body. "Humpty had a great fall~" They were nearing the site of the previous murder. "All the King's horses and all the King's men!" Freddie threw the man next to the mutilated corpse. "TRIED TO PUT HUMPTY TOGETHER AGAIN!" The man was now at his mercy. Too frightened to move, the man had gone into a state of shock.

The American decided he would break the man, just like the little Humpty Dumpty. He would be the fall. "Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall~" Freddie made the man sit up. "Humpty Dumpty had a great fall..." This was his favourite part. The red-eyed blond hit the man's head as one would with a baseball bat. "And he landed head first~" Grinning, Freddie slammed his bat on all of the man's limb joints, starting with the knees. "Then his bones burst~" By now, blood was soaking into the man's clothes. "Then his-"

"Freddie~" A haunting voice sang behind him. "I made some cupcakes for you, love" Freddie quickly turned to face the older male. "I heard the sounds of blood shed coming from behind the garden and followed it," Oscar explained. The male carefully adjusted his glasses. "Well, I'm sure Deadlie here wouldn't mind some, would he!? Isn't that right, Deadlie? When am I ever wrong!" Freddie laughed to himself, patting the dead man's blood-splattered back.

* * *

I have no idea where I'm going with this. I'll end the chapter here. Sorry for the pitiful and late update.


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